


Pancakes, Please

by darkicefire



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alternate Universe, Butter, C137cest, I have no excuse for this, I'm Sorry, Incest, M/M, Morty really likes cooking pancakes, Pancake! Morty, Pancake! Rick, Rick really likes eating pancakes, Smut, maple syrup, sex in restaurants, they aren't anthropomorphic pancakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 20:30:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8768176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkicefire/pseuds/darkicefire
Summary: In this dimension, Morty makes pancakes. Rick has always had a thing for pancakes and if he happens to notice the way Morty smells like maple syrup and butter, well then, that's not really his fault.Rick really loves pancakes and Morty really loves to make pancakes.Basically the alternate dimension AU that you never even knew you needed. All characters 18+





	

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't even have an excuse for this. I was watching Rick and Morty and it occurred to me that Rick really likes pancakes and then...well this pancake dimension was born. Once again, all betaing done by myself and my boyfriend so hopefully we didn't miss anything. This contains smut between Rick and Morty so, if that's not your thing, please don't read. Please enjoy!

There were few things in the world that Rick loved more than drugs, alcohol, and his lascivious lifestyle.

One of those things was pancakes. 

Rick could eat pancakes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and wash them down was a couple more plates of pancakes. In his mind, there were few things more perfect than round discs of cake covered in the perfect ratio of butter and syrup. After a long night of binge drinking, Rick loved waking up to a big plate of pancakes.

Imagine his surprise when his grandson turned out to be a pancake prodigy. Morty’s passion for making pancakes was only matched by his grandfather’s passion for eating them. They even had a routine: Rick would drag Morty off on some crazy adventure, usually succeeding in almost getting the boy killed and then they would return to their own dimension, where Morty would dust himself off and go about his business, making pancakes. And Rick would of course do his part by sitting down and eating them.

The little shit even managed to get the ratio right. If Rick didn’t know better, he’d think he was in love. But that was crazy.

Their little ritual of adventures and pancakes continued until Morty graduated high school. After that, the boy decided to forgo college in favor of following a path where he could really utilize his talents.

Thus, Morty’s House of Pancakes was born. The boy was a natural, compensating for his lack of business skills with his insane pancake-making skills. There was hardly a day where MHOP wasn’t packed with guests. As for Rick? Well, now that he could no longer steal Morty away on adventures whenever he felt like it, he decided that he needed another way of spending time with his grandson. Rick’s did need to stay near Morty’s for cloaking purposes, after all.

So he became Morty’s best customer, spending afternoons and evenings when he got tired of tinkering or when he’d finished a particularly difficult outing seated in his favorite booth eating pancakes as quickly as Morty could make them. 

His grandson seemed completely happy, surrounded by all of the things he loved. He got to spend every day making pancakes, all the while making Rick happy. To him, it was basically a dream come true. 

To Rick, Morty’s pancakes were quickly surpassing his other vices. The little innocuous discs of cake coated in luscious pools of melted butter and syrup were almost better than sex. So Rick began replacing his nightly ritual of trolling for sex on the intergalactic web with longer stays at MHOP, scarfing down plate after plate of pancakes, thanking whatever higher power he didn’t believe in that his continued drug abuse kept his metabolism high. Otherwise, he’d be one roly-poly Rick. 

So Rick spent his free time eating pancakes and Morty spent all his time making pancakes and if Rick happened to notice that his grandson smelled like syrup, well then that was just an accident. It wasn’t his fault that Morty was constantly leaning extremely close to his face, taking away empty plates and delivering new ones full of delicious pancakes, piping hot and swimming in delectable syrupy puddles.

The less time Rick spent fucking humans, aliens, and basically anything else with a pulse, the more time he spent dwelling on the intricacies of Morty’s scent. Some days, he smelled more like butter, other days, Rick could tell that he’d gotten in a fresh batch of syrup, the maple notes clinging to his hair more pungent and aromatic. 

The scent of maple and butter became to invade his dreams, Rick’s nights filled with visions of fucking Morty on a giant stack of pancakes, their bodies covered in a vile mixture of sweat and syrup. On those nights, Rick woke up gasping and shaking, a very confusing hard on visible from underneath his covers and his body torn between his conflicting feelings of being simultaneously horny and hungry. 

So Rick did the only logical thing he could think of in the wake of his newfound sexually confusing attraction to his grandson and pancakes: he began spending less and less time at the pancake house. He began to fill his time with old vices, frequently intergalactic strip clubs and cramming his system full of a deadly mix of cocaine, collaxion crystals, and whiskey. The few hours a day that he was conscious were spent fucking endless strings of nameless beings, trying to pretend that he didn’t have to bite his lip to avoid calling out the name of the one person he was doing all of this to forget.

Meanwhile, Morty had noticed the conspicuous absence of his number one customer. He might not have been the sharpest tool in the shed, but it didn’t take a genius to see that his grandfather hadn’t been to MHOP in weeks. Nights stopped being his busiest time of day, his time no longer monopolized by the grumpy man for whom Morty always kept booth 3 unoccupied. 

He called his mother, his father, and Summer and no one had noticed anything different about Rick. To them, he was still the same unpleasant old man he’d always been, constantly half drunk and always ill tempered. Even Morty could figure out that Rick was avoiding him. Or pancakes. But given how much the older man loved pancakes, Morty figured it had something to do with him, his mind filling with images of Rick at other diners, some other being serving him stack after stack of syrupy cakes.

Feeling glum, Morty now spent his days moping around his restaurant. He noticed that his clientele was gradually diminishing. However, he couldn’t bring himself to care, too consumed with thoughts of Rick eating forkful after forkful of someone else’s pancakes.

He became sloppy, burning cakes and missing syrup deliveries. He was constantly late in the mornings, lacking the will to get up and go. What once had been an all-consuming passion became a task that Morty felt he was simply going through the motions to complete. He had never felt more lost in his entire life.  
One night, as Morty was busying himself wiping down the counter for the hundredth time, his restaurant completely empty and Morty feeling bored, he heard the bell on the door jingle, the sound of someone entering the establishment barely penetrating his fog of despair. Waving a hand absently toward the door, Morty didn’t even look, yelling over his shoulder to whoever had just entered his restaurant. 

“S…Sit wherever you’d like. I…I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Finishing his mopping, the counter beneath him practically gleaming, Morty grabbed a menu, looking up to see where the customer had sat. He stilled in his movements, menu drifting to the ground forgotten. There, seated in booth number 3, was a lithe figure, familiar blue hair visible from across the restaurant, bald spot glinting in the light.

Remembering how angry he was with his grandfather, Morty balled his hands into fists at his sides, preparing to stalk angrily toward the other man. However, Morty decided that he would wait, not wanting to give the other man the satisfaction of knowing how upset Morty was. He didn’t want to admit it, but maybe, beneath his confusion and annoyance at the disruption of his routine, Morty was hurt.

He had thought that their relationship was special. He had thought that Rick cared about him and the pancakes that bound them together. Maybe, deep down, in a part of himself that Morty scarcely allowed himself to explore, he had allowed himself to believe that he meant something to Rick. But that had been nothing but a foolish delusion on his part.

Morty returned to the kitchen, quickly cooking up Rick’s standard order and returning to the dining room, intending on acting like nothing had ever happened and waiting for his grandfather to make the first move to apologize. Morty figured that he was at least owed an explanation.

Arriving at the table, Morty silently slid the stack of pancakes under Rick’s nose, struggling to keep the angry feelings from his face. However, any satisfaction that he may have been hoping for never came, the older man obviously more interested in staring blankly at the wall, taking slow gulps from his ever-present flask. 

Morty felt his anger begin to flare and quickly stalked away from the table to return to the kitchen. He would never get what he was owed if he went about this the wrong way. He decided to bide his time, consoling himself with the thought that Rick would surely apologize when Morty brought out his second stack. 

Morty stood in the kitchen window, watching as Rick continued his staring and sipping, the pancakes quickly turning into the dreaded syrupy paste that Rick had always professed to hate so much.

Finally, it was time for Morty to close up. He went about his nightly routine of turning off the neon sign and flicking the lock on the door. He pulled down the shades on the windows and wiped down the kitchen. When he finally had no other tasks to complete, Morty cast a glance toward booth 3, his grandfather and his forgotten pancakes still in residence. 

He could no longer avoid the inevitable confrontation, placing down his rag and stealing his nerves. He stalked his way across the restaurant, coming to a stop in at the edge of the table. Upon his arrival, Rick finally broke his gaze with the wall and turned it to his grandson, eyes struggling to focus in his half-drunk state. 

Rick took in Morty’s angry countenance, noticing his little hands balled into angry fists and the way his eyebrows were knitted together in annoyance. However, he was more interested in the little glob of syrup present on the younger man’s cheek. Unbidden memories of his dreams flitted across his mind and before he could allow his better judgment to return, Rick leaned up, gently licking the spot off of Morty’s cheek.

Heat bloomed across Morty’s face, brows knitting even further together in confusion. He shuddered as Rick brought his hand up to swipe at the trail of saliva that he had left, closing his eyes and leaning slightly into the touch, obviously fighting some internal battles of his own.

Morty’s eyes slowly slid open, locking with Rick’s own. He’d managed to sober slightly as the gravity of what he had done slowly sunk in.

“R…Rick?” Morty whispered, his voice wavering with barely-contained emotion. Rick felt what was left of his resolve breaking, surging forward to grab his grandson by the collar of his trademark yellow shirt, and bringing his own face within inches of the younger man’s.

“S…shut up, Morty.”

He covered his grandson’s lips with his own, delighting in the taste of syrupy cakes on the boy’s tongue. Like it wasn’t enough that Morty had a passion for making pancakes and smelled like pancakes, of course he would taste like pancakes as well, fully cementing Rick’s place in hell. 

Morty hesitated, muscles frozen in shock at the fact that his grandfather was kissing him. Rick tasted like booze and sin, lips rough where they were pressed against Morty’s own. He felt Rick’s initial confidence start to fade; his lips beginning to withdraw from Morty’s own unresponsive ones.

This was enough to startle Morty in to action. He lunged forward, following Rick’s retreating lips with his own and re-instating the kiss. The older man moaned, twining long arms around Morty’s smaller body, tugging him forward to join him in the booth. 

Morty crawled forward, straddling his grandfather’s lap. Rick groaned when his straining erection met Morty’s own rapidly hardening cock. A jolt of electricity sparked in the younger man and he smirked, grinding their erections against each other on purpose.  
Rick gasped, pulling back to look assess his grandson. Feeling satisfied with what he saw, Rick brought a hand down, lifting up the hem of Morty’s shirt and darting underneath. His grandson shivered, nipples hardening as Rick’s thin fingers ghosted across them.

Deciding that he needed more, Rick urged Morty’s arms over his head, quickly pulling his shirt off and tossing it to the side. Finally confronted with everything that he had ever wanted in his darkest of dreams, Rick greedily took in the newly revealed skin in front of him. 

Morty had grown in adulthood, body filling out into that of a man. A light ghosting of brown hair covered his chest, trailing down his stomach where it disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants. Rick felt his mouth water with the thought of what lay beneath the fabric, cock growing impossibly harder at the idea.

He leaned forward and trailed his tongue across one of the soft pink buds that were Morty’s nipples, watching as his grandson tossed his head back in pleasure. Closing his eyes, Rick contented himself was lapping hungrily at each of the fleshy nubs in turn. The scent of pancakes that always clung to Morty’s skin wafted into his nostrils and Rick figured that, if there were a heaven, this must be it and someone must have made a huge mistake allowing Rick to end up here.

Morty keened wantonly under his grandfather’s ministrations. It was rapidly becoming obvious that neither of them had any intention of stopping and, if the growing wet spot on Morty’s trousers was any indication, it was high time for Rick to take the next step.

He nudged Morty gently up onto the table, swiping his forgotten plate of pancakes to the side. He quickly undid the button and fly on the boy’s pants and, with Morty’s help, quickly tugged both them and his briefs off, flinging them to the side to join Morty’s already forgotten shirt. Rick quickly followed Morty’s discarded clothing with his own, stripping in what must have been record time.

Finally, they were both naked. Rick marveled at Morty’s smaller pale body stretched out beneath him, amidst bottles of syrup and packets of butter. His erection throbbed painfully beneath his legs, the combination of Morty and pancakes almost doing him in. He gave himself a few quick strokes, watching as Morty writhed impatiently on the table.

He grinned, spitting across his fingers until they were nice and lubed up. Rick spread Morty’s legs further apart and tugged him to the edge of the table, delighting at the sight of the boy’s pink hole clenching in the cool air. 

Rick slide one spit-covered finger into Morty’s entrance, watching Morty’s face contort first in discomfort, then in pleasure, the discomfort quickly melting away when Rick crooked his finger, brushing it against Morty’s prostate. 

So caught up in the waves of pleasure coursing through his body, Morty hardly noticed when his grandfather added a second, then a third finger, scissoring and working them in and out.

Finally satisfied that the boy was ready, finger pulled his fingers out. Morty whimpered at the loss. Rick grinned, running a hand soothingly down the boy’s side.

“Shhh, baby. I got…got something even better for you.”

Before Morty had a chance to respond, Rick thrust forward, burying his dick deep in Morty’s ass with one stroke. Morty moaned loudly. Rick’s cock was huge, filling and stretching Morty almost to the brink. Rick groaned at the tight heat now surrounding his dick. Being balls deep in his grandson was the single greatest thing that Rick had ever experienced in a long life full to the brim with experiences.

Returning to himself, Rick finally moved, watching the flush on Morty’s face bloom across his chest as he fucked him. Rick started gently, moving slowly to allow Morty time to grow accustomed to the feeling. However, the slow pace wasn’t enough to satisfy Morty for long, his grandson wrapping his legs around Rick’s back and using his heels to urge him on.

“F…Faster, Rick, oh! Faster, h…h…harder!”

More than happy to oblige, Rick increased his speed, punctuating every third thrust with a direct hit to Morty’s prostate. The younger man was coming completely undone under his grandfather’s ministrations. His cock was weeping against his chest, beads of precum coating the younger man’s abdomen. 

Rick was in heaven, watching his dream come true beneath him. Wanting to complete his fantasies, Rick reached his arm out and grabbed one of the bottles of syrup that were standard on every table in the restaurant. He tilted it, pouring thick sticky maple syrup across their bodies, the scent blooming across his nostrils and spurring his thrusting on. 

If Morty found the addition of the syrup weird, he didn’t say anything, continuing to moan Rick’s name breathily. 

Rick felt himself getting steadily closer, his body on the cusp of what promised to be the greatest orgasm of his life. He reached down, fisting Morty’s cock and watching as the younger man’s balls drew up, his orgasm rapidly approaching. A few more deft strokes of Rick’s hand and Morty was cumming, white strands of semen painting their chests and mingling with the sweat and syrup coating their bodies.

With a few more particularly hard thrusts, Rick came, filling Morty with his spunk. He pulled out, flopping back onto the vinyl seat of the booth in exhaustion. He watched as Morty slid off the table, climbing into the seat next to him.

Rick took in their messy countenances, their bodies coated in a vile mix of bodily fluids and syrup. He reached out and pulled his grandson into him, wrapping his arms around Morty and giving his a soft kiss, savoring the taste of syrup on the boy’s lips.

Breaking the kiss, Rick looked at Morty seated in his lap. The younger man’s hair was mated with maple syrup, sticking up awkwardly from where it was pressed against the table. 

“Y…you know –UURP- you know what would make this better, Morty?”

Morty shook his head no, waiting for his grandfather to continue.

Rick grinned, waving his arms for emphasis. 

“A b…big stack of…of…of pancakes, Morty!”

Morty groaned and buried his face back into Rick’s chest as the older man cackled in delight, happily pulling the boy closer and savoring the familiar smell of butter and maple and Morty drifting lazily across his senses.


End file.
